Duty
by Clyll the Deathless
Summary: One-shot. Vernon Durlsey did his duty to his family, and never has, nor ever will, believe otherwise. Warning, themes of abuse.


**_Disclaimer: _**_I own nothing of Harry Potter, and make no money off of it (that would be J.K. Rowling and __associates) _

* * *

For Vernon Dursley it took 20 minutes to get to work. He used the exact same route he had since he started working at Grunnings, around seven years ago. It predominantly involved the main roads, with a couple of backstreet shortcuts his father had always sworn by. Even when running slightly behind time, he never intentionally sped or used different streets, partly in case he got lost, but mostly because he was convinced his way was the best way. Petunia tended to agree.

On this particular morning, Vernon was slightly ahead of schedule (_perhaps because that freak was getting better at cooking_, he pondered. _Faster, for sure_), and so he allowed his mind to drift slightly on the calming drive to work. He always found it nice, driving early in the morning, removed from the usual rush.

He wondered about his sister, who had recently gone very well in the local dog show. _Perhaps it was time to see her,_ he mused. Dudley would be pleased, Vernon knew, he adored his aunt. A fond smile graced his face.

Vernon tapped his fingers to the tune on the radio, before he realised exactly what the song was, and what station the radio was on. He angrily flipped to the station he usually listened to.

_Pah, the freaks and their music,_ he though derisively, _the no-good hooligans_.

He bet it was the freak that changed the station.

_Just to spite me too._

His thoughts inevitably drew further towards the boy - Harry (and wasn't that a no-good hooligan name, bound for terrible things?).

His fingers clenched on the wheel tightly, white knuckled. And not because he was angry, but because he was uncomfortable. A part of him, the part that stood firm, proud and tall to say: I'm a father, and this is my boy, whilst smiling proudly, was quite uncomfortable with what he did yesterday (m_aybe it was the fear that made him cook breakfast so quickly this morning? _But the thought was quick and easily dismissed).

Suddenly the car ride wasn't as peaceful as it was a moment ago.

The boy was a freak, a hooligan, someone who was destroying the happiness of his household. It was destroying his family, the boy's freakishness. Vernon was a normal man, and that boy was simply not normal. Vernon knew things that any sane man, he thinks, would rather not know. And Vernon, he could admit, was clueless in addressing the issue. The easiest thing to do was to suppress it, to stamp it down and subdue it. Then it wouldn't be a threat.

Vernon sometimes regretted what he had to do to suppress it. When he's alone he thinks, sometimes far too much. But Vernon had an amazing family. A handsome son, who took after his mother and father in the best ways possible, and Vernon could even see some of his grandfather in there too, the great man that he was. Dudley was strong, not weak like a pansy child but strong! He took what was owed him, and Vernon knew one day he would take after Vernon, and work at Grunnings, perhaps going further that he ever would!

And his wife, oh, his wife! A loving, beautiful, perfect wife, who cooked delightful meals and cleaned and made sure he was happy. She wore colourful frocks and sweetly talked to his dinner guests, without Vernon ever asking. She kept up with the latest fashion and the latest gossip, and was a wonderful storyteller. They made love, for they were in love, and always would be. She was his soul mate, and his, hers.

His family was perfect; his family was normal.

When Harry Potter came to the Dursley's doorstep, and forever darkened it, Vernon knew that his life was about to change. But he was not going to let some freak change his family, or let them become any less than normal. So Vernon looked into the green eyes of the monster, and vowed he would, in years to come, still be remembered as the man who was normal, with a normal wife, and a normal child.

Vernon Durlsey did his duty to his family, and never has, nor ever will, believe otherwise.

* * *

At number four Privet Drive, a little boy inside of the cupboard under the stairs was curled into a small ball, while his stomach growled, and tears ran down his face.

* * *

_This made me feel a bit sick, or at least uncomfortable...anyone else?_

_C.D x_


End file.
